


All of You

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears, Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, In the desert no one can hear you scream, Movie Spoilers, Smutty tent scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22881919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: A smutty extra scene set at the end of the movie. You know which one!If you've not had a chance Acorn TV has it for streaming and it's well worth it.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 46
Kudos: 247





	All of You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the collective beta power of Miss Fisher Island and it's denizens!
> 
> The title is a reference to a song from Gregg Walker's amazing movie soundtrack which is out on spotify. If you want to go stream it and listen to the lyrics...yeah. I swear that man has been reading our fanfic.

Phryne lay in her tent, her skin humming in anticipation. She had said good night to Jack a little over five minutes ago; the case was done, justice served as far as could be expected, and he seemed to have more or less forgiven her for the whole ‘Maharajah’ business.

She was fully prepared in a gorgeous nightgown, the pale turquoise satin soft as the evening breeze against her skin. Her Dutch cap, carefully protected from the sand by its sturdy Bakelite case, had been retrieved and inserted. All that remained was for Jack to accept her invitation and join her.

She waited.

And waited.

Another five minutes. Then another ten.

There were no sounds at all from the adjacent tent. No indication that he intended to make good on the longing in his eyes as she expressed regret over their lack of whisky.

_‘No chance of a nightcap,’ she had lamented, eyes on his lips, voice full of suggestions for alternatives._

She had assumed he would be right behind her, ready and willing to pick up where they had left off.

30 minutes.

 _Where the hell was he?_ He couldn’t possibly have mistook her intentions, surely? The man was a detective for crying out loud!. No. He was doing this on purpose. He had to be. He was clearly waiting for _her_ to go to _him_.

Well that wasn’t going to happen. Phryne Fisher did not beg, not for him, not for any man.

Tantalising images of situations in which she might do just that crowded her imagination; she squeezed her thighs together in frustration and pouted as she attempted to fight them back. It was no good. The feel of his naked chest under her fingers had seared itself into her memory and stubbornly refused to leave her in peace.

Perhaps she had been wrong, and he was still angry about her marriage. Or worse, would refuse to bed another man’s wife, even though he knew the arrangement was merely a matter of political convenience.

Which it _had_ been.

The Maharajah was a good man, and when he had begged for her help, it had not been for _his_ life, but for the life of the man he loved. She knew just how it felt to love someone that much; had tasted the beauty and the terror of it. She couldn’t have turned him down, not when it was in her power to help them…

A small, annoyingly honest voice in the back of her head - which just happened to sound a lot like Jack – brazenly called her a liar.

She glowered at the shadows that played across the roof of the tent. Phryne Fisher did not need or ask for permission before she acted, and she certainly did not need to explain herself. Not to him. Not to any man. That was non-negotiable. The only way to keep herself free. She had good reason for what she did, and if he couldn’t accept that, she was better off without him. _Without him_. The thought clawed its way out of her stomach, a bitter, vicious thing, gouging invisible scars into her skin.

She hated that loving him could make her so afraid. Not of him. She trusted him implicitly. It was herself she didn’t trust. Didn’t trust herself not to lose herself in him. And if that fear might have perhaps factored a little into her decision to marry, she had no intention of admitting it, even to herself.

She shivered; the nightgown she had donned in preparation for Jack’s arrival was no match for the chill of the desert night. Her skin prickled, the hair rising on the back of her neck, deeply ingrained fight or flight responses heightening her senses, her body reacting to some unknown danger. Her head snapped up as a shadow moved on the roof of the tent; a scratching scuttle that froze her blood. Thankful for the first time in her life to see a spider, she grabbed her pistol and took aim...

The leaf slid down the side of the tent, dropping with a soft crunch into the sand below.

Phryne glared at it, suddenly furious; with herself, with Jack, with the whole ridiculous situation they found themselves in. Her grip on the pistol was shaking, her heart beating its way out of her chest.

Fight or flight? When faced with the choice, Phryne Fisher had always chosen to fight. Always. Except on the day that Jack had kissed her farewell at sunrise in a dusty airfield, and she had fled as far and fast as she could, in fear of what she might let herself become.

That was unacceptable.

She steadied her grip, levelled her aim at the place where the leaf had fallen and fired.

Jack had been lying in his own tent, oblivious to the internal war raging mere feet away, calmly reading his book. He had considered inviting Phryne to join him but his narrow cot would not accommodate two bodies, and he wasn’t quite brazen enough to invite himself to join her. For the first half-hour or so, he had harboured a faint hope she would find a pretext to enter his tent, but he was well accustomed to disappointment in that quarter, and before long had managed to lose himself in Zane Gray.

The moment he heard the gunshot, he was on his feet and running towards her, heart racing, pounding feet churning up the sand as he ran. It was an autonomic response, as instinctive as breathing, but harder to suppress. He would always run to her when she needed him. It was as much a fact as the turning of the Earth, the only question remaining was what he would do once he got there.

* * *

He couldn’t be sure, of course, but Jack suspected from the start that the tarantula had been a ruse. Not that Phryne wouldn’t have shot at one given half a chance. Call it a hunch. Then she stood before him, so close he could count the freckles on her nose, and told him she was afraid - he didn’t believe for a second that she was talking about the damned spider. She might not be able to say it, but she was afraid of him, afraid he would turn her into someone she was not. Afraid that, despite all they had been through together, he would try to temper her fire rather than risk being burned by it.

The knowledge stung, but he couldn’t really blame her. It was not as if he had been any braver than she. He had followed the unspoken connection between them halfway across the world to say farewell, then halfway home again because he was unable to let her go. Yet still, he had been too proud, too angry, too unwilling to risk the consequences of telling her how he felt and what he wanted.

She was trembling, uncertain, and he realised that she needed this step to be his, although she would never ask it of him. Would never ask him to be brave when she could not be. And what was he afraid of really? Heartbreak? She had broken his heart so many times already and yet here they still were. What was one more time? They had come to the end of the road; no more games, no more innuendo and obfuscation.

He bared is soul to her and waited, the incremental moment before she responded filling lifetimes. He asked for her heart; a far more precious gift than her hand, and much more dangerous to give away, and she smiled, and chided him for not knowing he already had it in his keeping. Of course, she did. She was never prone to making things easy on him.

They drifted closer, slow and inevitable, a tectonic shift holding the power to force mountains from beneath the ocean to tower above the clouds. When their lips met it was love without desperation, an unquestionable certainty that they were finally where they needed to be.

They melted into each other, Jack felt as if he was floating high above himself as he relearned the taste and texture of her mouth. An addictive flavour he had known all too briefly and never thought to find again. He was lost, and found, at peace, and overflowing with the energy of desire; the exquisite paradox of loving a modern woman.

Phryne drew back, feeling giddy and alive, joy bubbling up inside her like fresh water from under the desert sand. She ran her hands up Jack’s chest, revelling in the rapid thrum of his heart beneath his shirt as she traced the lines of his braces. Fear had given way to excitement, but it was not the superficial thrill she always felt before taking a man to bed. He was so much more to her than just another lover. He was her partner, her equal, the single pillar who stood tall even in those rare moments when she faltered. A man who never judged her or thought her weak when she allowed herself to lean on him.

She wanted to give him something, some reward for his understanding, for being brave enough to force her to face her fears. She could find no words deep enough to express her gratitude to him, so she made do with the truth - or a truth at least - and hoped he understood.

“By the way. There wasn’t really a tarantula.”

He chuckled softly, realising that far from running to her rescue, he had in fact been summoned. He’d had his suspicions, of course, but it was nice to have them confirmed.

“Good. I didn’t really shoot one,” he reassured her. He didn’t need to hear her thanks, not now he knew he had her heart. 

She slipped his braces from his shoulders without haste or hesitance, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt and luxuriating in every inch of skin exposed. When they kissed again it was with unmistakable intent. Jack’s hands, which had rested respectfully at Phryne’s waist, lowered to squeeze her backside and draw her in closer, letting her feel the effect her proximity had on him, before sliding them upwards to sweep the ivory satin robe from her shoulders.

She purred into his mouth, pushing off his shirt so she could caress his skin, her fingers exploring his chest and arms, discovering old scars, and the solid ridges of muscle and bone. She broke away from his lips to trail kisses down his neck, smelling the desert on his skin mingled with something that meant ‘home’ in a language far beyond words. She swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered his name into the divot at the base of his neck before tracing the little hollow with her tongue, just as she had imagined doing so many times before. She could feel the deep moan that vibrated up from his chest at her touch, and it was far better than any fantasy.

Jack felt that the situation was getting away from him somewhat; Phryne’s hands were everywhere, and wherever she touched him he burned with want. He was already hard and straining against his trousers, his body craving hers, demanding he take her over and over till they were lost in each other. He had spent so long resisting her that it was almost strange how natural it felt to finally give in to his desires. He lifted her up and carried her to the bed, relishing in her enthusiasm and the breathless little laugh that fell from her lips as she pulled him down to meet her. They shared smiles and easy kisses as his hand found its way up under the hem of her nightgown, she shifted to give him room. He swept it off eagerly, revealing nothing underneath but perfect porcelain skin scented faintly with perfume, more tantalising by far than the most dangerous of lingerie.

“My God.” His whisper was soft and awed; he met her eyes shyly, although there was nothing shy about the way his hands roamed over her hips and stomach, trailing gooseflesh and shivers in their wake. “You are temptation itself, Miss Fisher.”

She laughed again. “Still Miss Fisher, Jack?” He had been far more free with her given name on this adventure than he had ever been in Melbourne, and she had grown rather fond of it.

“Only when you’re causing trouble,” he smirked.

As far as Jack was concerned, Phryne Fisher naked could be considered ‘trouble’ in the same way the Pacific Ocean could be considered ‘damp’. This did not mean he didn’t plan to give as good as he got.

“Although, now I think about it, I assume you have an entirely new title now. Should I be calling you ‘Your Royal Highness’ or something?” he asked, hands moving up to stroke the swell of her breasts then trace slow spirals around her nipples, taunting her with the promise of further contact.

He was baiting her, which was maddening, but the fact that he felt able to tease her about her marriage at least suggested he harboured no hidden resentment. Nevertheless, she had no intention of putting up with it.

“The term is Maharani.” She replied archly, pointedly stroking his arousal through his trousers with a firm, deliberate hand. “But given the circumstances, Phryne will do.”

He moaned, pressing himself further into her possessive grasp and trailing feverish kisses across her neck.

“As you wish my queen.”

The response elicited a sharp smack on the arse, the sting muted only slightly by the thin fabric of his trousers. He gripped both her wrists and forced them up beside her head, eyes dark with arousal.

“Later.” He growled into her ear, his voice a delicious prelude of future pleasure. Then he bit down on the lobe, and Phryne thought she might come apart right then and there as the sharp scrape of teeth merged with his voice and touch in an indescribable cacophony of sensation.

He resumed his kisses, beginning at her lips, travelling down the long line of her throat, suckling at the hard peaks of her nipples and whispering her name into the soft flesh of her belly. _Phryne.._.

His tongue traced lines of fire along her hip bones. _Phryne.._.

His hands slipped under her thighs to spread her legs apart. _Phryne.._.

He paused a moment at the junction of her thighs, breathing her in, and when he raised his eyes to her in a silent request for permission to continue, he looked so beautiful she found herself uncharacteristically speechless.

Jack didn’t need to be a detective to read the desire in her eyes. She was flushed and wanton, her breath shallow, the colour high on her cheeks. A vision that had haunted his dreams for longer than he would readily admit, but warm and wet and real, close enough to touch.

Close enough to taste.

He lowered his mouth to her and slowly began to explore the hidden topography of her cunt. The intoxicating flavour of her tempting him deeper until she began to moan his name, her fingers clenching in his hair. The sharp pull against his scalp spurred him on until he was fucking her in earnest, happily drowning in the evidence of her pleasure. 

Phryne had entirely abandoned thought and surrendered herself to the sweet waves of ecstasy rising up to engulf her. She was aware, as if from a great distance, of her own voice, cursing aloud and calling Jack’s name over and over as his tongue turned her insides to liquid flame. His hair without pomade was soft against her hands as she threaded her fingers through it, and the muscles of his back and arms rippled with his movements. When he raised his mouth to lick softly at her clitoris, she let out a cry that could have woken every ghost in the desert, and when his long, nimble fingers crooked inside her and began to move in tandem with his tongue, the final wave of her climax broke over her, leaving her vision blurred and her mind reeling.

Jack slid up to lie beside her, utterly captivated by the sight of Phryne Fisher, thoroughly undone. Her eyes were closed as she savoured the last tremors of her orgasm, her lips spread wide in hoarse, breathless laughter. She opened her eyes lazily, blinking as she attempted to regain focus. She tried to smooth her hair, which was irreparably and adorably rumpled by the friction of her head against the pillows, but gave up when Jack bent again to kiss her. He was slow and gentle, letting her set the pace as she regained her equilibrium, he could feel her trembling slightly under his hands, but whether from pleasure or an excess of emotion, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he was wise enough not to push his luck by drawing attention to it.

Phryne buried her face in Jack’s neck, not trusting herself to speak. Her climax had dissipated, but the love left in its wake was far more overwhelming; an all-encompassing, dangerous love, the kind that could consume every part of her, keep her caught in cage of her own making, wings clipped, staring blankly through the open door with no desire to leave. Jack held her close, not tight, but steady and sure as she fought her demons back into the dark.

It would never happen. He would never want it to happen. He had proved more than once that he would rather let her go than change who she was. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, deep healing breaths, grounding herself in that scent, the scent of a home she never wanted to leave. He had been right when he had said she feared him, but she would be well and truly damned before she would let that fear take him from her. Assuming of course that she wasn’t already.

Jack buried his nose in the mussy strands of Phryne’s hair, content for the moment just to hold her, one hand on the small of her back, the other massaging the space between her shoulder blades. When she finally drew back to look at him, he was surprised to see the glimmer of tears mingled with adoration in her eyes. He would have happily circled the globe a hundred times to have her look at him like that. A prospect which, given her propensity for trouble, seemed more than a little likely. He kissed the errant drops away before they could fall, fully understanding the enormity of what she was feeling. He wasn’t sure one lifetime would be enough to fully comprehend the full weight of what he felt for her; it was not unlike getting bowled over by a freight train. At least he was used to it.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded, “Better than alright.”

“I did get that impression.”

Jack allowed himself a small, satisfied smile which Phryne immediately took as a challenge. Her own expression became distinctly mischievous as her hands began to roam once more over his chest and belly, sliding down once more to massage him through his trousers.

“I can only hope you will be equally vocal in your appreciation of my efforts.”

“That depends on what you intend to…haaaa oh good God…”

He was cut off abruptly as Phryne found her way inside his smalls and began an in-depth investigation of the contents, which from her expression, she appeared very well pleased with. When she tugged at the offending garments, indicating he should remove them he stood up with rather more enthusiasm than finesse and stripped them off without another word.

Phryne bit her lip, mesmerised by the sight of Jack, her Jack, standing by her bed, naked and needy and beautiful. She crawled forward on hands and knees, unable to resist the urge to follow the trail of hair that led down to his magnificent cock with her tongue. When she took him in her mouth, her reserved inspector let out a loud expletive she had never heard him use before, and tangled a hand in her hair. She was delighted to find him so uninhibited in his pleasure. She was going to have to invent a myriad of new and innovative sins to commit with this man, just for the heady pleasure of seeing him enjoy them. For now, she set a slow, steady pace, allowing herself the luxury of exploring every inch of him with her tongue and fingers until his legs began to tremble.

Jack forced himself to keep his eyes open. It had been far too many years since he had last been intimate with anyone, and nothing in his life had even remotely prepared him for this. Phryne’s tongue was moving in slow circles around his glans, one hand caressing his shaft, the other grasping his buttock so she could guide him as he thrust into her mouth. Her eyes were smiling, and the quiet, satisfied sounds of her pleasure reverberated through him, drawing desperate curses and the whisper of her name from his lips. He could almost believe she was enjoying this as much as he was, although that didn’t seem possible. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow and he could feel himself beginning to lose control. It took a great deal of effort to pull back, but he managed it somehow. He wasn’t ready for this to end just yet. 

Phryne pouted. She had been rather enjoying having him at her mercy.

“Are you sure, Jack?”

She ran the hand from his buttock, down the back of his thigh and he squeezed his eyes shut at the fresh assault.

He nodded. “Next time? There’s a distinct possibility I won’t survive much more of that and I have plans for you.”

“Well if you put it like that.”

She pulled him back onto the bed, lying back so he could nestle his hips comfortably in the crook of her thighs, his cock hard and insistent against her sex. They shared a singular smile, heavy with history, light with joy. It gave way to a deep, all encompassing kiss, Phryne’s tongue dipping into Jack’s mouth, their merging flavours a visceral reminder: they were always better together.

Phryne pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes.

“Make love to me, Jack Robinson.”

“If you insist, Miss Fisher.”

She was still laughing as he pressed inside her for the first time. Such a short distance in relation to how far they had come; the final seconds of descent, followed at last by the moment of impact. It might yet prove fatal to one or both of them, but it would be worth it, worth it a thousand times over to be together now.

 _“Phryne.”_ He whispered. His voice was filled with awe and reverence, and it was her turn to kiss the tears sparkling in his eyes. She wrapped her legs tight around his back, pinning him to her, never wanting to let him go.

_“Jack, my Jack.”_

“Yours.” He agreed.

It was nothing but the truth, he had already admitted as much, but it was one thing to give her his heart, quite another to hear her claim it. To claim him. All of him. Every inch. They began to move together, a smooth, rolling undulation, Jack pressing close and deep, barely withdrawing, Phryne caressing him from the inside, overjoyed to finally have him right where she wanted him.

Well, almost...

She rolled them over, still locked together till she was straddling his lap and able to ravish him in earnest. White hot fire scorched through her veins, increasing with every thrust, consuming her in an endless conflagration that bound them both in flame. Far from objecting, Jack let out an incoherent moan, his hands flying to her hips as he kept pace with her, his breath coming in short gasps as molten pleasure spread to the end of his every nerve.

He rose up on an elbow to drop kisses across her chest, licking the hard point of a nipple into his mouth, one hand reaching up from her hip to caress the other with dextrous fingers. Phryne began to cry out with every thrust, wordless obscenities, defect made perfection in her grace. Jack desperately wanted to see her come again, but any control he might have exercised over the situation had long since evaporated. He was operating on pure instinct, his only thought to keep up the relentless slide in and out of her body, the sensation too heavenly for words.

She kissed him again, rough and relentless, her tongue thrusting into his mouth, biting at his lip as she fell hard over the edge, pulling him with her. His vision blurred in the dim light as he finally let go and poured himself into her, her name on his lips. He collapsed back onto the bed, Phryne following, and for the second time he felt her face pressed into his heaving, naked chest as they fought for breath. This time was better.

He kissed her damp hair, his movements clumsy, his hand shaking as he traced the sweat slicked length of her spine.

“God help me, Phryne, I love you. And that was…”

“Better than I ever imagined.” She volunteered, hoping he understood how much of a compliment that was.

“You imagined?” He asked, feigning coyness even as he smirked at her.

“Are you saying you didn’t?” She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

Jack tilted his head; the little half smile of acknowledgement so sweet and familiar Phryne had no choice but to kiss it. She had wanted to do so every time she had seen it for so very long, and now, finally, there was no reason not to.

“I love you, Jack Robinson. Don’t ever forget it.”

He looked at her with soft adoring eyes. “I’ll do my best,” he promised. Knowing he could never forget this moment if he tried. He fervently hoped he never had to.

She smiled back, unable to contain the sheer, all-encompassing happiness she felt, wanting to live in this moment for as long as it could be persuaded to last. “In that case I will just have to keep thinking up ways to remind you.”

His eyes darkened and Phryne had the distinct impression that he would have more than a few suggestions himself on that score. He rolled her over, so she was face down on the satin sheets and began kissing his way along her shoulders, his broad palm sliding down to squeeze her arse.

“Likewise, Miss Fisher. Likewise,” he rumbled in her ear.


End file.
